You Don't Even Know Yet
by Karashi
Summary: Just one of those "How the Time Heals Universe" could have played out after Gwen went back in time to stop Ben and Kevin from first hacking the Omnitrix. An unsolicited contribution to Invader-Hime's "Thirteen Days of Darkstar" project.
1. Sunset

**"You Don't Even Know Yet"**

**Author's Notes: **Something for Invader-Hime's annual project "Thirteen Days of Darkstar." This takes place after "War of the Worlds" but it _leads_ into the "Time Heals" universe where the bad guys win. Because I do love me some victorious DarkCaster.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One: Sunset<strong>

_"The sun's in the sky, it's warming up your back legs."_

He thought once the Hero Trio made good on their offer to free him from the Null Void he wouldn't have to resort to skulking about the shadows. Then he considered the possibility that they would try to throw him back in after all was said and done. Seems like his doubt was well-founded because here he was. On the run again, with his chest heaving, his lungs burning for air, and the mouths in his palms gnashing in frustration.

_Damn them all,_ he curses, a gauntlet-clad fist slamming against the alleyway's wall with enough force to leave an indentation. He had the perfect opportunity to regenerate himself, all those DNAliens with mana ripe for the picking coming at him by the droves. And he _had_ begun the process of draining them dry. Except someone had to interfere and soapbox about the importance of life and shove their oh-so-honorable morals down everyone's throats.

Chapped lips curled into a sneer at the memory, baring perfect white teeth from behind the metal mask. He would have told them to shove it where the sun doesn't shine because they had bigger fish to fry. Like, say, the impending destruction of their world as they know it? Who gave them the right to deny him a last meal and the chance to go down fighting in a blaze of golden glory?

Oh, that's right, they were _Ben Ten_, wearer of the Omnitrix and universally acclaimed hero. They could do no wrong. If they had, it couldn't possibly be their fault, and they'd still set it right.

The sneer twists into a scowl of disgust while faded-blue eyes roll at that thought. Nothing quite gets his hackles up more than self-righteous prattling. As it stands, he was already on edge while on a short fuse from being mana-starved. He's already beginning to feel the effects of his hunger as his stomach twists itself into knots and the strength in his limbs wanes.

He presses himself flat against the grimy walls, trying to melt into the shadows, waiting for the first source of mana he could find. A drunkard stumbles into the alleyway, taking another swig from the bottle nestled inside a paper bag.

Darkstar's disgust intensifies at the smell of alcohol and urine coming off the drunk in waves. He was raised surrounded by the finer things in life. He grew up with no want for anything material because his family had the power to give him what he wanted. He shouldn't have to feed on what he considered to be the bottom of the barrel. Except he _didn't_ have his family's power anymore and he could barely rely on his own power.

The reality of just how far he had fallen from grace causes his temper to flare and prompts his pride to reject draining the man of his mana.

But the insistent gnashing of his hand-mouths forces him to swallow said pride because beggars can't be choosers. He isn't ready to simply waste away into nothing. He will not be denied his vengeance and his grim determination prompts him to grab his victim by the back of their neck. His meal is a gaunt husk before he realizes it and though the hunger pangs continue to gnaw at him, they aren't as intense. Growling in frustration, he leaves the barely breathing man on the ground in search of more prey and for a place to stay.

He is careful in navigating the concrete jungle, making certain no one spots him as he darts in and out of the shadowy side-streets of the city. He doesn't need unwarranted attention. Which, given his attire and what he _hides _beneath said attire, would undoubtedly cause more than a few heads to turn.

Cautious glances over his shoulder and constant mana-signature scans ensures Darkstar that he isn't being followed. But he cannot shake off the feeling that he was being watched. And even though he wouldn't put it past them, something told him that it wasn't the Hero Trio's doing.

After feasting on a few more vagrants and sneaking down several blocks later, Darkstar is standing in front of a warehouse. The security is lax: No security cameras, no roving guards, just a meager padlock on the chain-link fence. He has enough mana in his system that he can break open the lock with minimal effort.

The warehouse doors groan as he swings them open, the sudden rush of air sending clouds of long-settled dust into the air. He doesn't wait for the air to settle as he enters, faded-blue eyes studying the half-covered parade floats, discarded stage sets, and various theatrical props left for storage.

"This will do," he decides after surveying the rest of the warehouse. The place is far enough from the city but near enough for him to find food. He supposes this place will suffice as a temporary hideout and it _is _temporary because it won't be long before he manages to come up with a plan to fix himself and get his revenge.

But first things first: He needs to rest. It's been a long, tiring day.

A small smirk plays across chapped lips when he pulls off a sheet to reveal a King's regal throne. Someone must have spared no expense to make this thing because not only is the piece of furniture sturdy enough to support his full weight, the cushion built into the seat and the backrest is plush and comfortable. Even when another mana-scan shows he is alone he keeps his helmet on, the feel of cold metal against taut skin both reassuring and grating. He wearily leans back into the over-sized chair, closes his eyes to rest, and soon drifts off to sleep.

His dreams are filled with visions of him in all his former golden glory, wearing no mask, and his enemies not only stripped of power but serving him. He stands smug, triumphant, every single slight and grievance paid back in full. It was wonderful.

The only thing he finds unusual is how his dream-self's seat of power is beside a _second _throne. But this detail is easily waved away in dismissal and he is once again focused on the fates that have befallen the Hero Trio.

* * *

><p><em>"You can't deny you're looking for the sunset."<em>

"Him?" a raspy voice sneers incredulously as dark eyes stare into the scrying orb.

"Yes, _him_," a sultry voice insists as painted nails point directly at the image just before it wavers back into a hazy mist.

"He seems unreliable and has far too grandiose an agenda to recruit," the raspy voice stubbornly huffs over the rustling fabric of a robe being drawn close.

Magenta eyes barely manage to keep themselves from rolling in annoyance, instead focusing on a spot over the older man's shoulder. "Anyone without ambition is no better than my golems."

"Perhaps..." he concedes reluctantly, "But we've come this far without requiring the help outside of the family."

"It never hurts to have allies with diverse abilities, Uncle Hex," fingers run through platinum locks, in an attempt to distract the older wizard from the unspoken sentiment: _Isn't it obvious?_

Hex narrows his eyes at his niece and brandishes his serpentine staff at her, "Fine, Charmcaster, I shall humor you your ridiculous request. No doubt you'd go behind my back and attempt to lure the leech to our side no matter _what _I say."

The mana witch blinks in surprise. She didn't expect her Uncle to deviate from their usual lengthy exchange before giving her his permission. It naturally raises her suspicions. She mirrors his expression and after pulling her lips into a wary smile, she attempts to pry for what the consequences will be. "You know me so well, Uncle."

"Oh I assure you it's nothing so simple as _that_, " the wizard chuckles cryptically before dismissing his niece.

Charmcaster doesn't know what to make of her Uncle's words. Was it a warning? Was it a threat? Whatever it was, the mana witch knew better than to lower her guard. Still, now that she's been given the go ahead, it was time to begin the first phase of her plan.

Casually, she strolls into her Uncle's library, a painted nail running along the spines of old tomes, ancient texts, and volumes until magenta eyes locks on a specific title. She smiles knowingly as she pulls out the book, idly thumbing through the pages to confirm the contents are what she wants and what _he_ needs. She snaps the book shut, unconcerned if the bindings threaten to break and the pages spill out. The worn, aged appearance will give it more authenticity.

With the target's location in mind and the bait in hand, all she needs to do is set the trap. She knows she needs to approach this carefully. The last thing she wants is to scare him off. Or for her Uncle to discover what she really has in mind.


	2. Mind

**Author's Notes: **After over a year of inactivity, I finally got around to finishing this chapter. I know this is long overdue and I was halfway done with the first part of the chapter but then _Couple's Retreat_ aired, and it made me I break up with the Ben 10 franchise. But Invader Hime's birthday happened and I totally owe it to her (and to anyone who kept this on watch) to finish this.

Just as a reminder: this is an Alternate Timeline fic that takes place just after Alien Force's "War of the Worlds" but in the same timeline that Gwen meddled with in "Time Heals" so Kevin and Ben never hacked the Omnitrix._  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two: Mind<strong>

_"She's got you high and you don't even know yet_._"_

What initially begins as a hunt for breakfast quickly evolves into a game of stealth after Darkstar's intended target retrieved a metal case from a false wall. He hears the rodent-like alien sigh in relief and mutter something about being able to make it to the drop-off after all. Curiosity and the opportunity to feed on multiple sources has him spending most of the morning shadowing the oversized rat to a warehouse by the docks.

At first, the location means nothing to Darkstar. But catching a glimpse of the street signs jogs his memory to something he'd read in the Plumber database. Faded blue eyes widen when it dawns on him. This particular warehouse is on the list of suspected meeting grounds for black market tech deals.

For the first time in weeks, Darkstar allows himself a faint glimmer of hope in finding a way to restore himself. Before he enters the building, he makes a quick mana-sweep of the place and detects no other signatures besides that of the rat. Carefully, quietly, the young man sneaks in and silently crouches behind several sealed crates.

A good hour passes with little else happening aside from the tech-dealer's weasely voice rehearsing his spiel over and over. Darkstar shifts uneasily in place, distinctly aware of the nagging suspicion that someone was watching him. He's done several mana-scans since he entered but time and time again, it's only that of the oversized rat that he picks up.

Half an hour passes and Darkstar's joints are starting to ache, the mouths in his hands are nipping testily at his skin, and his patience is starting to wear dangerously thin. The young man swears to himself that if it turns out the rodent-like alien is leading him on a wild goose chase, there's going to be one less black market tech-dealer by the day's end. His wait is eventually rewarded when the main doors to the warehouse open and a handful of armored men march in.

_The Forever Knights?_ Darkstar thinks to himself, a brow quirking in surprise but he is less than impressed when he realizes no one of rank is with them. The tech-dealer doesn't share the mana-leech's sentiments and with practiced ease starts the sales pitch.

"Good thing you guys decided to show up when you did. Another five minutes and I woulda left to go see my _other_ buyer," the rat-man shrugs in a calculatedly casual manner and brings out the metal case. "Which one of you is Edgar?"

The tallest knight steps forward in response.

Darkstar cranes his neck to get a better look but his hiding spot proves less than ideal. He contemplates taking them by surprise; feed on their energy before the rat-man catches wind of him and the knights figure out how to use whatever is inside the case. But when Edgar snarls in indignation, "Do you take us for _fools_, Rodent?" and Darkstar is unable to surmise why, the mana-leech decides to find a better vantage point.

"The name's Argit," the tech-dealer snaps back, "And you didn't lemme finish my explanation."

Darkstar's dull-blue eyes widen ever so slightly in interest when the same knight demands, with a hand resting ominously on his holstered laser lance, "Would your explanation include how the vehicle we're interested in purchasing could fit in that attaché?"

"What are you, senile? I never said nothing about giving you the actual ride," a snicker precedes the sound of Argit opening the case, "Just the keys and the map to where it's hidden." He makes a show of presenting the case's contents, and just as one of the knights reaches out to inspect it, the rat-man slams the case shut. "But hey, if you ain't interested, no skin off my nose. I'm due to meet up with that other buyer anyway."

"Wait!" one of the knights in the back calls out, "What guarantee do we have that this isn't some scam?"

Argit fixes a sly smirk on his face, tilts his head with cocky assurance, and drawls, "You're just gonna have to trust me, ain't ya?"

"Unacceptable! You will accompany us to the location and if what you claim is true, then we shall pay you."

"You guys really are senile. I just told you I gotta meet another buyer-" A high-pitched hum of charging laser lances cuts off the rest of Argit's sentence.

"That's just their luck, isn't it?" Edgar growls and aims the barrel of the lance at the tech-dealer. Argit bristles, visibly, his quills raised in anxious anticipation. But when several dark bolts shoot out from the shadows and knocks the weapons out of the knights' hands, the tech-dealer takes the chance to bring out his own blaster.

Their suits of armor clatter noisily as the knights scatter to retrieve their weapons while avoiding the shots Argit fires. In the commotion, neither knights nor tech-dealer know when the young man in the metal mask joined the fray. Just that he seems to have simply stepped out of the shadows and that he is on neither of their side. A deft sidestep has a hail of quills missing the young man, piercing and paralyzing instead the hapless Forever Knight that intended to tackle him. The sole of a heavy boot catches Argit by the snout, the blow breaking cartilage and drawing blood, maybe even shaking a tooth loose. Almost immediately, the tech-dealer feels a second strike send him flying into the wall, the impact embeds him into the concrete and puts him out cold.

A well-aimed fist knocks off one Edgar's helm, revealing the dark-haired man underneath. The next thing Edgar knows, the new comer's gauntleted hand is gripping him by the face. The knight attempts to pry himself free but freezes at the sight of rows upon rows of teeth emerging out of the metal. Edgar's blood-curdling scream dies in his throat when the teeth sink into his flesh. What Darkstar drops to the ground is little more than a gaunt husk in a suit of armor.

Orders to "Run away!" quickly erupts but the knights' escape is cut short when they're bathed in obsidian light. Metal suits clatter to the ground as the knights feel themselves rapidly grow weaker with each passing second. When the men grow still and the dust settles, Darkstar is the only figure left standing, energy pulsating from his hands. He finishes feeding, takes a moment to study the bodies strewn on the ground in disappointment, and begins dusting himself off.

"The DNAliens put up a better fight but at least human mana tastes better," Darkstar sneers as he walks leisurely towards the metal case the rat-like alien had dropped in the fight. He kneels down to pick the attaché up, opening it to inspect its contents.

True to Argit's words, resting atop the velvet lining was a small holocube the young man recognizes as a mapping system and beside it was a key. He snaps the lid back into place when the sound of someone clapping echoes in the warehouse. Now-vibrant blue eyes widen in surprise and alarm. How could he have missed one?

With one hand holding the attaché behind him and the other hand poised to shoot bolts of energy, he rises and turns on his heels in one smooth motion to face the source: A woman with long, platinum blonde hair and dressed like it was Halloween.

"Did you know," the woman begins with a candid smile, "that there are beings capable of masking their mana-signatures?"

No, no he did _not_ know this, he did not think such a thing was even possible. He managed to stop himself from glancing at his surroundings; knowing such an action would betray his ignorance, not to mention outright surrender the upper hand to the strange woman. Instead, he lets the dark energy in his fists flare, the obsidian light deepening _just so_.

"Relax, I'm the only being of that kind here," the pale-haired woman chuckles behind the hand raised to her painted lips. She sounds more amused than threatened. And just like that, the woman's mana-signature blinks into Darkstar's senses. This grates on Darkstar's nerves, tempts him to simply lunge for her and grip that dainty neck of hers until the mouth in his hand drains her dry. Wisely and with effort, he stays put.

"And what exactly is your purpose?" he demands, blue eyes narrowing suspiciously. When the woman points straight at him and the infuriating smirk of superiority never leaving her lips, he doesn't give her a moment to blink before immediately assaulting her with a black beam. The blast engulfs her form, dropping her to her knees, her long hair cascading forward in a pale waterfall.

Before she even touches the ground, he's started to siphon her mana into him. He hears the whisper-soft hum of her energy coursing through his body, feels the the top of his head tingle and his too-taut stretch of skin slowly turn supple. The hunger gnawing at his very core ceases its grumbling, indulging itself instead on a glutinous feast that rivaled that of the self-righteous anodite Gwen.

The air around him begins to shimmer in a golden radiance and his mouth finds itself mimicking the woman's earlier smug expression. "Guess it doesn't matter if you can mask your mana or not. I can still feed on you all the same."

Just as the words slip past his lips, a sharp spike of energy surges unbidden into him. It hooks into the power already in his veins, coils tightly with intangible tethers, and jerks him towards the fallen woman. As the tug turns into a vicious, violent yank, he realizes in time resistance would only cause the flow of mana to reverse out of him, possibly even take what little reserves he had at the start.

As loathe as he is with his course of action, he does what he needs to do in order to survive with his strength intact. He stops draining her. He feels the abrupt loss almost immediately, the warmth of her mana ebbing away with maddening speed. He doesn't feel particularly weak though, the power he collected from the Forever Knights remains within his bones. His skin just can't help but feel too constricting, too confining.

Blue eyes narrow when the woman slowly raises her head, his temper flashes when she looks none the worse for wear. She sits up, neatly tucking her legs underneath, hands primly resting on her lap. The triumphant grin on her face gives Darkstar the sinking suspicion _he_ had acted according to _her_ plan. The woman smiles, her magenta eyes twinkling as she speaks, "Consider this a free sample. The next time you try to feed on me without my permission, you'll wish you were still in the Null Void."

Within his helmet, Darkstar bares his teeth at her threat. He squares his shoulders back, folds his arms behind him in defiance because he will not be cowed into submission! "I assure you, lovely, I won't be making the same mistake again."

Her smile widens, "Of course you won't. I plan on making sure of that." From her spot on the floor, she leans forward, one slim arm outstretched towards Darkstar. Her tone turns from mocking to playful, "Aren't you going to help a lady up?"

A patchy brow cocks at the arm, but all the same, the gentleman in the mana-leech nudges him to walk to her. He offers his hand, the mouth distinctly closed and _remained_ closed when she grasps it. Energy crackles at the contact in a manner eerily similar to his first encounter with Gwen, only the woman's signature is laced with a dark malevolence.

"What's your game?" he demands in suspicion.

To her credit she shows no sign of discomfort; her mana signature doesn't fluctuate and that infuriatingly knowing smile remains ever present. A menacing shadow simply crosses her elfin features when she tells him, "I know something that can fix you."

His grip on her hand tightens unconsciously, and he curses himself for betraying his eagerness and desperation. The woman's expression remains the same, but Darkstar _knows_ she knows. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says, feigning ignorance as he pulls his hand back.

Her laughter is affectionately mocking. The gleam in her eyes tells him he's not fooling anyone, least of all her. But still, she plays along, "Oh, I guess I have the wrong person. I guess there just has been _so many_ who've tried to take on the Hero Trio and failed so miserably they were reduced to mere shadows of their former selves."

Obsidian light radiates out of Darkstar in waves, "You don't say?" he manages to spit out in barely contained anger.

"Just a case of mistaken identity then," she shrugs nonplussed, does a slow turn on her heels, and begins walking out of the warehouse. A few strides away from the exit she pauses, purposely glances over her shoulder, "Guess I'll have to look for someone _else_ to help me destroy Gwen Tennyson."

Despite the less than ideal circumstances, despite the expectant gleam that flashes in the woman's eyes and practically _screams_ everything has been a set-up, Darkstar finds himself calling out: "Wait!"

* * *

><p><em>"It's the search for the time before it leaves without you."<em>

The young man in the metal mask doesn't trust her, she can tell. It's not in the way he carries himself in front of her, because his stance is calm, his shoulders are relaxed, and his head is angled so that she can see his eyes through the slits. It's the sharp edge in his voice, the way he deflects her questions with questions of his own, and the dark energy emanating from his hands folded behind his back that gives him away.

But then again, Charmcaster won't think him useful in the long run if he is so quick to believe or too easily bent to her will. She waits in growing impatience for the young man to finish making a great show of his reluctance in joining her, no _aiding_ her as he put it.

His spiel is interrupted when the alien rodent stirs within the large, rat-shaped hole in the wall. "This is by no means an _alliance_," he insists then silences the tech-dealer's groan with a black beam.

"Of course it isn't," she assures him while idly studying her nails.

"We should leave," he levels his gaze at her through the slits of his helmet, "This place will soon be crawling with either Plumbers or Forever Knights."

Charmcaster takes this as her cue to turn on her heels and exit the warehouse. She doesn't need to glance over her shoulder to know he's right behind her. She's seen enough of him in action to know he isn't going to make a sound.

"Your place, then?" she suggests, relishing the sudden pulse in his aura.

"It was you, wasn't it?" his voice is low and ominous.

"It was me what?" the mana-witch feigns ignorance, mostly because it serves to raise his hackles and she can't help but enjoy his desperate attempts to keep his temper in check. She hears an odd whistling sound, realizes in amusement that it's the young man taking in a deep breath. She decides not to remark on it, not yet anyway. There will be other opportunities.

"You're the one who's been spying on me." He says this calmly, shoulders slack, stance open, the only indication of his anger invisible to those unable to see auras or mana-signatures.

She claps her hands in mockery, "Well done, Sherlock, do you want a cookie for it?"

"I'd rather have answers." He folds his arms across his chest, the attaché resting against his side.

"And you'll have them," she shrugs, casually gestures to the empty alleyways while training her magenta eyes on him, "But not out in the open."

He doesn't seem the least bit assured but he hurries on ahead of her, leading her down twists and turns in a futile attempt to disorient her. She could have spared him the effort by telling him she knows exactly where his little throne room is but this was proving too amusing for her.

Finally, they arrive, and Charmcaster struts in like she owns the place. Because she _will_ own the place. Not to mention _the rest of the world_ if all things go according to plan. She pulls off the covers from the throne and sits herself down as if it was the most natural thing for her.

"I want my answers," her future cohort growls.

"Ask me a question first," she chides with a wagging finger.

"Who are you exactly? And none of that "_someone who hates Gwen Tennyson as much as you"_ crap," he warns.

She clucks her tongue, finger still wagging, "Isn't a gentleman supposed to introduce themselves first to lady before demanding her name?" She has to fight to keep herself from bursting into laughter when the masked man's already clenched fists tighten even further.

To his credit, the voice he uses to introduce himself is smooth as velvet, "I am called Darkstar."

"You may call me Charmcaster," she responds in kind. Had anyone missed the open animosity they've shown each other, Darkstar bringing the back of Charmcaster's hand to the mouth-slit of his helmet could almost be seen as romantic. Or cliché'd if one was inclined. In the mana-witch's opinion, however, this was an attempt to sneak in a quick snack of her mana. She withdrew her hand from him, "Next question?"

"I'd ask why you've been spying on me except it's obviously because you're scoping out my talents. And whether or not I will help you destroy Gwen." His grin behind the helmet is audible, "I will, of course, which brings me to my next question: How exactly do you plan on fixing me?"

She chuckles. He may not really care about her plan on destroying the Hero Trio, but the mere fact he's asking means he's already taken the bait. She unzips her bag, somehow managing to produce a tome that appears far too large for the bag to contain, let alone slip through the open mouth.

The platinum-haired woman holds out the musty volume to him, saying "I've marked the page for you."

His helmet hides any signs of eagerness as he dutifully opens the cover. Pages turn one after the other until he reaches the aforementioned section. "The Dominus Librium?" he reads aloud.

"You are going to retrieve that," she leans back against the prop throne's plush backrest, "And I am going to use it to fix you. No sense in feeding you mana if it's just going to _leak_ out."

"What is it?" he presses.

"It's an ancient, magical artifact that's going to have you walking out and about in public without you needing that silly helmet." She leaves it at that. No sense in explaining the deeper intricacies and besides, she doesn't want to give _too_ much away. It's best to always leave them wanting.

A shadow falls on her and she looks up to find he's looming over her. She meets his unseen stare evenly, "I'm guessing you have one last question."

He nods, grimly tucking the book in his arms before asking, "What exactly do you get out of it?"

"Now, now, Darkstar," she clucks her tongue, "A lady is entitled her secrets." Her eyes harden at the menacing flare in his aura and her own expression turns ugly. The mana-witch utters an incantation, magenta eyes lighting wickedly, her voice reverberating in cold power. The book literally jumps out of the mana-leech's gauntleted hands and the enchanted bag opens its zippered maw to swallow the tome.

"I think it's high time you showed me what's in _your_ bag of tricks," she points to the metal case he's keeping close by.

"If Argit is telling the truth, it's our ride."

"Oh. Lucky me," she grins, glad to have one more things crossed off her list.

* * *

><p><em>"Have you lost your mind or has she taken all of yours too?"<em>

After Darkstar and Charmcaster prove the verity of the rat-like tech-dealer's words, it takes Darkstar little more than a cursory glance at the controls to figure things out. They drive off in an alien vehicle the young man is more than glad to have in his collection. He explains to the mana-witch, in small, simple words slathered in condescension, how to work the navigation system.

She doesn't take it well, fumes in indignation, and growls out, "I know how an engine block works. Just because I use magic doesn't mean I'm still stuck in the middle ages."

"You just look like you are," he scoffs, instinctively raises a glowing black hand to absorb the bolt of fuchsia she hurls at his face.

"My clothes happen to signify my rank," she hisses, flipping her hair irritably.

"And the black tiara?" he challenges.

Magenta eyes narrow at him, "I just _like_ tiaras. What's your excuse for the belts?"

"Remnants from its original armored form," he responds coolly.

"And what about your half-assed cape?"

"It's a _mantle_," he corrects her with equal calm. "And since you've been spying on me, I don't think I need to elaborate on the helmet's purpose, do I?"

Her staunch defense in her fashion actually surprises him as much as it amuses him. Truthfully he has no issue with Charmcaster's garments. It was just something he wanted to pick at. Call it his petty revenge for all the questions she left unanswered.

The trip goes by faster than either Darkstar or Charmcaster anticipates; partly a testament of the vehicle's speed and partly because of the adage involving how time flies. Neither is willing to bring it up though the young man is very tempted. As he is about to disembark, Charmcaster suddenly shoulders past. "Let _me_ take the lead."

"I'm touched you trust me enough to turn your back on me," he chuckles, bowing in mock gratitude.

She comes to a halt, turns to face him, then motions for him to go on ahead, "You're welcome to disarm the traps and dispel the cantrips undoubtedly laid out for us."

"What sort of gentleman would I be to let a lady do all the work?" Darkstar doesn't question his skill in identifying potential trap-triggers. But the word cantrip is new to him and there have been no mentions of that word in any of the Plumber databases. "But at your insistence, I shall defer to your... expertise."

The pair treks on, walking past large carved statues and fossilized plants, pausing whenever the mana-witch sets about chanting in a language Darkstar's translator is unfamiliar with. He watches her closely, studies the arcane glyphs and symbols she draws in the air, tries to memorize the words she utters, searching for patterns and clues to better understand the way she manipulates mana.

As he does this, he can't help but notice the way her soft elfin features belie the hard edge in her eyes, or how the gentle cupid's bow of her mouth produces such crass, cutting words and razor-sharp laughter. He finds himself smiling despite himself.

She notices his scrutinizing gaze, arches a brow at him wordlessly, a hand mid-cast.

Mentally he curses himself for getting caught. He's not usually this sloppy during his observations. "Just admiring the view," he waves dismissively. She doesn't believe him, he can tell by her snide snicker as she finishes the spell.

A flash of light blinds him. He angles his head to shield him from the brilliant light while he blinks away the dots dancing in front of his eyes. By the time his vision returns, he sees the mana-witch hefting a small bead at the large temple's door before running in the opposite direction.

"You might want to take cover," she suggests, zipping past.

Darkstar doesn't question the warning. He's seen enough of the ruin's adverse reaction to his and Charmcaster's attempt at disarming the traps both physical and magical. He pivots away just in time as an explosion throws him off his feet and into the air. The tremor that follows knocks the mana-witch off her feet and she slams to the floor. She promptly turns the air blue with vulgarities.

Meanwhile, the young man lets the blast carry him away, except he realizes he's about to land smack on top of Charmcaster. Ever the gentleman, his arms shoots out, braces him for the impact against his gauntleted palms and his knees. He lands with a heavy thud, elbows nearly giving way, the knowledge that he might crush his best shot at a cure steeling his limbs.

He looks down, finds the platinum blonde staring up at him, those magenta eyes of hers wide in disbelief, and for the briefest moments she looks almost... vulnerable. The moment passes, then her features harden, and she growls at him to move so she can stand. He does as ordered, wondering if the faint flush on her cheeks was from physical exertion or their proximity. He decides not to dwell on it for too long.

The pair enters, cautiously walking down long corridors that smell of salt and fish until finally arriving at the center where the golden object illustrated in the tome was kept. Darkstar waits expectantly for the mana-witch's instructions. None comes.

He shrugs and heads up the stairs leading to the altar, taking two steps at a time. He reaches the top without incident, but when he tries to retrieve the artifact, vivid blue eyes widen in confusion when he finds he can't. Let. Go. He holds his tongue, tries to pull away, but he doesn't hold his silence for long when, to his horror, the artifact starts draining him of his energy.

The world starts growing cold and dim, the strength leaves his body, and he faintly hears someone scream out "Darkles!" He collapses against a vertical stone surface, vaguely feels the low hum of coursing mana, then his eyes close. He flits in and out of waking, growls when he's forcibly shaken by the shoulders, and then mutters an unpleasant and i_threatening_/i demand to be left alone.

A cool wind caresses his face. Then burning heat surges through him.

He bolts upright in agony and wakes to disorientation, hands clenched in tight fists, vicious obsidian light radiating from his entire body. Large, blocky arms suddenly restrain him, and he struggles against the rune-carved binding with a fervor found only in cornered, wounded animals.

"Darkles!" A woman's voice snaps him back to reality. She's glaring at him, her painted lips curved down in an ugly scowl.

He stares at her, dumbly. He doesn't seem to recognize her or know where he is. He tries to lean back when the mana-witch cups his face, again feels intense heat spread through him, the air around him crackling with energy and an overwhelming scent of flowers.

"T-too. Much," he wheezes out, "P-pure mana."

The woman hears the lucidity returning in his voice and removes her hands from his cheeks. "You should have said something sooner!" she snarls, "The Dominus Librium's last trap nearly absorbed your life force!"

"Oh," he blinks, feels his stony captor relieve its constricting embrace. "Were you worried about me?"

"Yes," her candor surprises him. Makes him happy even. "This whole thing would have been a waste of time if you died," she scolds then strikes the golden artifact against his shoulder. _Hard_. He's sure he'll bruise but his mood remains pleasant.

A salty breeze manages to waft in and then his eyes grow saucer wide in realization. "My helmet! You took my helmet off!" It's Darkstar's turn to be furious at the serene expression on Charmcaster's face.

"Relax, you look fine. Better than fine, actually," she grins mischievously.

Uneasily, Darkstar brushes his fingers against his face, realizes the skin isn't dry or stretched taut. The large, blocky hand of Charmcaster's golem holds the helmet out to Darkstar, and he can see creamy skin and a full head of gold hair reflected in the shiny metal surface.

"I-I'm cured?" he gasps softly, reverently, accepting his helmet back, still staring at his restored glory.

"Almost," Charmcaster corrects and shoves the Dominus Librium in his line of sight.

He frowns, "What are you waiting for, then?"

"There's the matter of completing the ritual, which we can't do here."

"Why not?" he demands, rising to his feet.

"There's too much magical residue," she answers, then notices the disbelief in his eyes. She sigh in irritation, "You wouldn't set up sensitive electronic equipment near anything that generates a large EMP, would you?"

He takes a moment to consider her words, gives the entire area a mana-sweep, and is startled by the myriad of mana-signatures lingering throughout the room.

"Then let's get to where there's less," Darkstar can't believe that he's about to say: "Magical interference."

"I was waiting on _you_, Darkles," the pale-haired woman huffs and stomps off indignantly, her large, stone golem lumbering after her like some oversized mutt.

Darkstar remains in place, stares after the retreating figure of the woman named Charmcaster, and allows himself a second to think about the day's strange turn of he woke that morning, he did not expect to end up following an illegal tech-dealer. He did not expect to become the new owner of an illegally procured alien vehicle. He did not expect a mana-manipulator was seeking to enlist him to her side. He also did not expect that he will keep his word and actually work with the pale-haired woman.

"Are you coming or not?!" her voice echoes testily out from the long, narrow corridor. He smiles, cradles his helmet to him, and wordlessly runs after her. As heavy boots silently close the distance between them, he idly thinks in the back of his mind that the most unexpected of all was how was actually looking forward to working with Charmcaster.


End file.
